


Bad Things Happen (When We're Apart)

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Car Accident, F/M, Hospital Scenes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They should have known by now. Nothing good ever came from being apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Things Happen (When We're Apart)

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm on a ferry again. I've already gotten this done, written two thousand words of another fic, had a nap and found the slightly faulty internet. I should get more done. Fingers crossed. 
> 
> Thank you for all the support from the last two fics I posted. It means a lot and I do read the messages you guys send and love them. I just don't get the time to reply like I want to. But thank you so much! Always!

There’s a sharp, horrendous twist of twisting metal and then everything is just a blur.

            Ian had been running late, of course he was. He just doesn’t sleep right without Mickey beside him. He doesn’t wake right either, or on time. It’s ironic since he’d been the on to encourage Mickey to go away with Mandy.

            He couldn’t get it off work, but Mandy had been desperate to see someone that wasn’t her boyfriend or doctor. Five months pregnant and Mandy had never quite experienced the _happy glow_. She’d just been uncomfortable from the start and the minute she’d been unable to see her own feet, the complaining had kicked in.

            So of course, Mandy had begged Ian and Ian had persuaded Mickey to go down there for a few days to visit. Just keep her company. He had the time off that he could claim and it was amazing what you could get Mickey to agree to when you had four fingers up his ass.

            It had been two days into the allotted four that Mickey would be away. Ian had regretted his decision within the first five minutes.

            He’d gotten home from work at the gym to silence. Completely, dead, boring, horrible silence. No Mickey flopped, stretched out on the couch. No Mickey snoring in the bedroom. No Mickey singing in the shower. No Mickey bitching at the oven.

            Just no Mickey.

            _Why did he think it had been a good idea?_

            So Ian had drunk himself to sleep after too many hours staring at the ceiling and woken up late. But, “ _Jimmy could give you a lift,”_ Fiona had said when he texted her. _“Come on Ian. Just… give him a chance. Jimmy’ll give you a lift there.”_

            And he’s been trying to make an effort with Fiona again. She’s been trying so he figures its only right he makes a little bit of an attempt to.

            So he’d gotten in the car when Jimmy had pulled up and held onto that _oh shit_ handle above the door as Jimmy had wound through the streets in his fancy ass range rover. He’d done it because he was late and he’d done it for his sister.

            It’s still one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made to date.

            Ian doesn’t really know what happens. He’s too busy daydreaming about Mickey, thinking about the way he should have woken up this morning if Mickey had been there. He wouldn’t have missed his alarm, would have had time for a slow, morning blowjob and then Mickey making coffee while Ian jumped in the shower. Then he’d have gotten his sappy, slow, stupid kiss at the door and then he’d be off to work.

            It all would have been fine.

            This was not fine.

            Jimmy jumping a red light and getting smashed by another car right into the passenger side – Ian’s side – was not fine. The car flipping four times before finally landing the wrong way up, was not fine. Nothing about it was fine.

            Not that Ian actually knew any of this when it happened. Thankfully, he’d passed out on impact.

            Just one thought of Mickey’s face, the small smile he gives when Ian presses their mouths together one final time and then nothing. Then black. As last thoughts go though, it isn’t the last one that a person could have.

 

*****

Ian wakes up and it’s all too bright.

            His toe itches too.

            He’s basically just really uncomfortable.

            And he has no idea where the hell he is.

            “Sweetie, can you hear me?”

            There’s a woman bent over him, long dark hair and pretty eyes. She looks nice. She also looks really _really_ sad. A pretty woman shouldn’t look sad. Nobody should look sad, Ian knows that much.

            He blinks.

            “Ian I’m so sorry. I’m so, I’m…” she starts sobbing and Ian would move to comfort her, he wants to. He just doesn’t know what’s holding him back. Maybe it’s the fact he can’t move one of his arms. He can’t really feel one of his arms too well, that has something to do with as well he supposes.

            “What happened?” he asks. It’s the obvious question.

            There’s a more important question, there’s something else he wants to know. He just can’t… he doesn’t… it’ll come to him.

            The pretty woman is nudged aside by a man Ian’s age, sandy hair, blue eyes. Ian immediately thinks he looks like an arsehole. “Debbie, go get a nurse,” he says, hunching over Ian. “You were in a car crash, man. A real shitty one. Doctor’ll explain more, just hold tight.”

            Ian nods, even though he wasn’t really listening much after car crash. He doesn’t remember being in a car. Or maybe he does… _nope_. He doesn’t have a car.

            He and Mickey don’t need a car.

           

 

            Mickey. Where’s Mickey?

 

            Shit. He tries to twist his head, tears immediately springing to his eyes at the effort, the strain it puts on his neck. He can’t quite see, but he remembers. He remembers Mickey. Mickey would be here, should be here. He should be the one bending over Ian now.

            Not these people. Who are these people?

            Where’s Mickey?

            Before he can ask, a nurse bustles in, waves all the people from the room and smiles down at him sadly. “My names Josie. You okay, love?” she asks. “Much pain?”

            _Obviously_ , he wants to say, but what comes out instead is, “Where’s Mickey?”

            The nurse blinks. “Mickey?”

            “My boyfriend. He’s my… where is he? I need Mickey here. He needs to be here.”

            He knows he sounds pathetic, but it’s just… he hurts. He hurts all over and everyone is staring at him like… he just wants Mickey here. Mickey will chase away all the bullshit. He always does. He just wants Mickey.

            “Have you asked you sister to ring him?” Josie asks.

            Ian frowns and it actually hurts the muscles in his face. “Who?”

            Josie blinks, she’s got pretty eyes. Not as pretty as Mickey’s, not as blue. But still pretty. She looks worried though. Why does everyone look so worried? Is something so wrong with him that it needs that?

            “I’m going to be right back,” Josie says. “Don’t you worry. You just stay there, love.”

            Where else is he going to go?

            Where’s Mickey?

           

*****

 

When Ian wakes up again, or maybe he was already awake, there’s a man in a white coat shining a light in his eyes.

            It’s not Mickey though. Mickey still isn’t there.

            Have they called Mickey yet?

            “Can you tell me your name, son?” the doctor asks.

            “Ian Gallagher,” he says. Obviously he knows his name. He doesn’t know this doctor’s name though.

            “Do you know what day it is?”

            “Thursday.” Mickey’s back on Saturday. Back from where? He can’t… Mandy! He’s visiting Mandy.

            “Okay, what were you doing this morning, Ian. Can you remember?”

            He frowns a little. It hurts less than before, but it’s still not comfortable. His facial muscles feel tight. “I woke up late. Mickey wasn’t there. He’s visiting Mandy. Have you called Mickey yet?”

            The doctor scribbles something on his notepad. He squints at Ian. “And Mickey is?”

            “My boyfriend?”

            “Can you remember the number?”

            Ian rattles it off. The doctor writes it down.

            “What about Fiona’s?”

            Ian blinks. “Who’s Fiona?”

            The doctor looks disappointed about that. He sighs, scribbles something else down. “I’ll be right back.”

            Ian catches his arm, doesn’t even know he’s moves his hand until he’s done it. “Are you going to call Mickey? I want…”

            The doctor smiles and it’s the first time he’s really looked like a real person since Ian opened his eyes. “You’ve met Josie, right?” he says and Ian nods. “Well Josie here is going to take this number and she’s going to ring Mickey. Don’t you worry about it.”

            Ian nods, feeling something inside of him uncoil and relax when Josie smiles at him reassuringly. “You just go back to sleep, love,” she says. So Ian does.

 

*****

 

Josie feels for the family, she really does. It must be horrible to not be remembered by your own brother, but… honestly, that isn’t her problem.

            Especially not with the stricken, panicked expression on Ian Gallagher’s face when he’d asked for Mickey. Josie’s job was to take care of her patients and if what would take care of her patient was ringing someone called Mickey, she’d do it.

            So she just side-steps Dr. Marsh where he’s breaking the news to Ian’s siblings and heads over to the nursing desk.

            The phone rings and rings and for a second she’s worried that this Mickey isn’t going to answer, but then, “Who’s this?”

            He sounds tired, as strained as Ian’s expression had been when asking for him. Briefly, she wonders if Mickey might already know what’s happened. She sort of hopes he has, she hates breaking news to people when it’s bad like this.

            “Is this Mickey?” she asks, fingers drumming against the desk nervously.

            “Yeah?” he replies, uncertain.

            “Um… my names Josie, I’m a nurse Northwestern Memorial Hospital here in Chicago. I–”

            “Where’s Ian?” he says instantly. “What happened?”

            There’s already this heartbroken hitch to his voice. Like he’s imagining all the worst possible scenarios and it’s breaking him a little more with each second. She can hear a woman’s voice in the background asking, “ _Mick, Mickey what is it?_ ”

            “He was in a car crash,” she says. “There’s some broken bones, but we’ll talk you through that when you get here. The impact however seems to have resulted in some amnesia and… he’s asking for you.”

            _“What the hell was he doing in a car?”_ Mickey’s breath stutters again as he breathes out. “I’m on my way. Tell him I’m coming,” he says. “Just… who’s there? Are his family there?”

            “Yes,” she tells him, looking over at where one of the brother’s is arguing with Dr. Marsh. They’re restricting them from all surging back in the room. No sense in distressing Ian with faces he doesn’t recognise so soon after waking up.

            “Okay, just… don’t let them. They’ll stress him out,” he says. There’s rustling and a door slams. Josie is picturing him running out with only his shoes on his feet. She doesn’t think that image is far off if she’s being honest. “Tell him I’m coming.”

            With that he hangs up and Josie is left there, a smile on her face for reasons she can’t really explain.

            Just the expression on Ian’s face when she tells him Mickey is on his way gives her everything she needs to know about their relationship. She’s not even sure she’d look that relieved to see her husband and doesn’t that just tell her something about herself.

 

*****

 

Mickey didn’t even stop to grab a jacket. He just jumped in Mandy’s boyfriend’s car, barely stopping to shove shoes on his feet, slammed it into drive and went.

            The last text he’d gotten off of Ian that morning had said ‘I miss you.”

            Mickey doesn’t want that to be the last thing Ian ever said to him.

            _A few broken bones._ _Amnesia_. Those are the words rattling around his head. And it doesn’t matter that those words are there, because he’s still imagining all of the worst.

            His parking is terrible, but he doesn’t care. He slips twice with how fast he’s trying to run, but he doesn’t care.

            “Ian Gallagher,” he says, careening straight into the nurse’s desk.

            “Just down the hall, that room there,” the nurse there says. “Are you Mickey?”

            He’s moving before she’s finished speaking, tossing a, “Yeah,” over his shoulder as he goes. He pushes right past all the Gallaghers lingering by the door and then there he is. Ian. His Ian.

            He looks so small in that bed.

            One of his legs is in a cast and there’s a thick, bulky bandage around one arm. Gauze on his neck and torso. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it still shouldn’t have happened. How did this happen? What was Ian even doing in a car in the first place?

            Ian’s still asleep, but his eyelashes flutter when Mickey creeps closer, pressing a hand against the side of his face. His brow furrows a little as he starts to wake, pulling at the scraped, raw skin around his temple.

            “Mick?” Ian says, lips barely moving as he forms the name.

            Just like that Mickey’s whole body unwinds. Like he’s finally taken a breath. This was all he ever needs to know everything is okay. He just needs to hear Ian say his name like no one else has, each and every time.

            “Hey,” he says softly.

            He slips his hands up into the sides of Ian’s hair, holds their faces close together and just breathes. “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?” he says.

            Ian’s hands lift, catch the back of his neck, bulky bandages be damned. His eyes are dark and blown with pain, but he looks the clearest Mickey’s probably seen him in a very long time as he says, “Please don’t.”

            He laughs wetly and slots their mouths together in just one of the kisses they should have been having over these lost days. Mickey’s hated every moment of being away. It was good to see Mandy for all of five seconds before her complaining started.

            _Mickey, my feet hurt._

_Mickey, I’m hungry._

_It feels like I’ve been punched in the vagina, Mickey._

_Will you shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep, Mickey._

            And on and on it went. Throw in the fact that there was no Ian to suffer through it with and Mickey was ready to eat bullets within the first hour.

            He knew he shouldn’t have left. Nothing good ever comes from the two of them being separated. The Halfway House should have taught them that much if nothing else.

            “I’m here now,” he says, tears pricking behind his eyes like the stupid, sappy fucker that he really is inside.

            Ian nods weakly and twines their fingers together when Mickey pulls back. He drags a chair over to right beside the bed, knees banging up against the metal.

            “What’s the damage then?” he asks.

            Ian looks down the length of his body and then back up at Mickey, quickly, like he can’t bear to look away for too long. “Pretty sure my leg’s broken, Mick,” he says, eyebrow quirking slightly.

            Mickey flips him off. “I fucking gathered that, you dick.”

            The laugh that emerges from Ian’s chest is enough to light up a whole fucking football stadium. It always has been able to have that effect, at least for Mickey. “They haven’t said much,” Ian admits then, the smile fading from his mouth, but not his eyes. “Think they’re focussing on the mental shit.”

            Makes sense, really.

            “How much do you remember?”

            Ian shrugs best he can, looks like he regrets trying. “You. Mandy. What I ate last night… the movie we saw last week. Really random stuff. Just. . .” he trails off. He looks ashamed.

            “Not your family,” Mickey finishes for him.

            “Was that who they were?” he asks.

            It seems like he’s probably worked out as much, but didn’t want it confirmed. What sort of person forgot their family?

            Mickey knows Ian, knows he’ll be blaming himself over all this. Knows he’ll be thinking of all stupid shitty reasons why he couldn’t remember them. When it doesn’t matter, does it really? Ian could be dead. Ian could not remember _him_.

            Not remembering his asshole brother and sister isn’t the worst thing in the world in Mickey’s opinion.

            (He doesn’t mean that. He doesn’t… but it feels good to think that in this way, Mickey’s come first.)

            He thinks of the younger ones though, of the way Ian used to talk about them, so happy and full of pride. It would be a shame if he lost that. Mickey knows it would. He also knows Ian will remember eventually. He has to, doesn’t he?

            “Yeah,” he says. “So how… Mandy?”

            “By association I think,” Ian admits. “I was thinking about you, where you were and then… _at Mandy’s_ was just in my head.”

            “It’s probably that subconscious shit.”

            “Yeah.”

            There’s a knock on the door then and a woman poking her head through. “You boys alright in here?” she asks. “I’m Josie. We spoke on the phone. You must be Mickey.”

            Mickey nods, actually accepts the hand she offers and even tries to offer her _something_ of a smile.

            “You’re all this one wants to talk about,” she says, motioning to Ian with a wide smile splitting up her face. It’s different to see someone so open immediately after meeting Mickey. She’s obviously judging him off what she’s seen, off Ian’s desire to see him, Mickey’s reactions and not his appearance. Not his attitude.

            It’s refreshing.

            “Dr. Marsh will be in again shortly to talk to you,” she says. “Is there anything I can do for you though? Are you in much pain, Ian?”

            “A bit,” he says.

            She nods. “I’ll get you something for that now.”

            Just as she starts to leave the room, Mickey stops her with, “Thanks.” He can feel the heat rushing to his face when she turns back to look at him, their eyes meeting. “For calling me.”

            He doesn’t want to think how long he would have had to have gone before finding out if she hadn’t. It wasn’t like any of Ian’s dickhead family would have thought to call.

 

*****

 

The doctor is nice, beneath all the medical jargon Ian can tell that much.

            The prognosis in the end is both simple and a little confusing.

            A broken leg and a sprained wrist mean he came out of crash pretty well off. He’s got some minor burns and scrapes on the side of his neck and face, a cracked rib and some small cuts from the car’s windows shattering around him.

            One of the windows shattered when Ian’s head hit it, apparently. At least that’s what they reckon. Which would explain the head injury and the temporary memory loss.

            They think it’s temporary anyway. Since things are already starting to come back to Ian as he lays there. It’s all association and it’s all gradual, but it’s good news.

            Still, he’s in for overnight observation.

            And Mickey can’t stay with him.

            “I’ll be back as soon as they let me, Gallagher,” Mickey assures him. Ian hasn’t let go of his hand in the four hours since Mickey’s arrived and he doesn’t want to now. He doesn’t want to be alone again.

            Mickey kisses him, once, twice and then a third time since he can’t help himself. It’s lingering and soft and it only makes Ian want him to stay all the more.

            “I love you,” Mickey whispers, their lips still close.

            He rarely says it first and even with this shoddy memory that Ian has right now, he knows how much this means. He knows how scared Mickey must have been about this whole situation for Mickey to say those words.

            “I love you too,” he says, choking up a little.

            Mickey ruffles his hair lightly and pulls away. He’s all too aware of the nurse’s eyes watching him from through the door. They want him to leave. He’s already ten minutes past when he was supposed to be out of here.

            “Relax, Gallagher,” he says. “Get some sleep. We’ll deal with you and your fucking peg leg in the morning.”

            He leaves to the sound of Ian’s laugh and it’s enough to get him through this, to calm him, for now.

            That feeling of brief relief that had been building in his chest quickly dissipates when he spots the horde of Gallagher’s standing around the unit’s entrance. Their expressions range from worried to annoyed to tired.

It’s all understandable, but Mickey does not have the energy for any of this.

“How is he? They won’t tell us anything!” Lip says, pushing forwards and getting right up into Mickey’s face. “You could have come out and told us _something_. Jesus, we’ve been sitting here for fucking hours!”

Mickey scoffs. “Like you douchebags called me to tell me this even fucking happened!”

Fiona at least has the decency to look at little ashamed at having forgotten, but as usual, Lip just had to be a dickhead about it.

“You’re not first priority here, get over yourself,” he says. “We’re family, blood. Who are you? Just a boyfriend he’s going to wise up and dump eventually.”

See, the thing is, objectively Mickey knows that they’re all stressed. He knows they’re all worried and that they all handle that in different ways. He knows, he just doesn’t care.

He thumbs at his bottom lip briefly, wondering whether it’ll get him permanently barred from this hospital if he starts a fight with Lip right now. He really, _really_ wants to hit him. But for Ian, he can be smart.

“Yeah, family,” he says, voice low and calm, because he already knows this is going to be a low blow. “Family he doesn’t remember. You may be blood, but it’s me he’s going home with. It’s me he wants here. What does that tell you?”

He walks off at that. He doesn’t have anything else to say to them.

Ian will probably be annoyed when he remembers. He’ll probably be annoyed even if he doesn’t. For now though, it feels like a slight victory, one of the only ones he’s allowed.

 

*****

 

Just like he thought it would, Ian’s memory comes back in stages of the course of the night and the next morning.

            He remembers Mickey mostly at first, then the Halfway House. He remembers their complete beginning and middle that they’re still living and will be until one of them dies. He remembers the little things he loves about Mickey and he remembers the little things he hates too.

            Then he remembers the in-betweens. He remembers the Gallagher house and the Gallaghers and he remembers all the things he doesn’t want to remember necessarily. Like Monica. Like Frank. Like all the judgements and the arguments with his siblings.

            He remembers everything, or at least the everything that everyone else remembers about their lives. So maybe it isn’t everything, but it’s the important parts. It’s the necessary parts.

            He feels bad about forgetting, but is it really his fault? Is it really so surprising? Ian’s not surprised that out of everything in his life, Mickey would be the one thing he would remember. Of course he would be.

            If he forgot everything else, there would be nothing he would want to remember but Mickey. He doesn’t know where he would be without Mickey and he doesn’t want to know.

            It’s awkward, stilted when Fiona and Lip trail into the room the next day. They’re there early, but not as early as Mickey. Something they seem to be annoyed about.

            Ian can tell from the expressions on all of their faces that words were exchanged, but he’s not surprised and he can’t bring himself to care enough about it. He’s too tired and his knee itches inside of the cast.

            _Of course it does._

“Ian, baby I’m so glad you’re okay,” Fiona says, fussing at the bed’s cover.

            He gives her a weak smile, keeping Mickey’s hand clasped tight in his own. “No thanks to your boyfriend,” he says. He can’t help it. He’s not trying to point the finger and place the blame except… well it is Jimmy’s fault. Nobody made the idiot run a red light. “How is he by the way?”

            Fiona pales, wrings her hands together in front of her. “He’s fine,” she says. “A few scrapes and bruises but the car…”

            “Hit my side,” Ian finishes for her.

            He can feel Mickey’s pulse through the grip he has on his hand. It’s comforting, even if the beat is racing. Mickey’s never been comfortable in a room with Ian’s family and now it’s just ten times worse. Now, he just knows, Mickey’s wishing he could throw a punch.

            Probably at Lip. And Ian couldn’t exactly say his brother wouldn’t deserve it, Lip usually did.

            “Typical,” Mickey mutters. “Of course the prick would get off scot free. What’s that shit about cockroaches and head chopping.”

            Ian rubs his thumb across the back of Mickey’s hand, tugs him in a little closer. He doesn’t know who he’s comforting and he’s smiling despite himself. It completely belies his warning of, “ _Mick_.”

            Fiona looks like she’s shitting a hedgehog. Lip for once, is being quiet. He probably doesn’t disagree completely with what’s being said.

            Fiona’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times and Ian can practically see the decision forming. In the end, she just bites the bullet and says, “Ian, look… about Jimmy.”

            “What?”

            “It’s just… that car wasn’t exactly _his_. So would you… just if the police ask…”

            Ian laughs, harsh and loud and not a sound he’s ever heard himself make before. He feels ill. He can actually feel the bile starting to rise in his throat. Is this what family has come to? Is this was a relationship has reduced Fiona to?

            A part of him understands, he does. He’d want to protect Mickey if the positions were reversed. Maybe. Or maybe Mickey almost killing one of his siblings would have to be the clincher. He’d probably have to seriously reconsider his priorities if that happened.

            Even Lip is looking at Fiona like she’s suddenly grown a second head.

            “Get out,” Mickey says, voice like ice.

            Fiona can tell she’s said completely the wrong thing, mouth gaping open like fish. “I –”

            “Are you fucking deaf?” Mickey asks, voice rising as he stands. He still doesn’t let go of Ian’s hand, but even so, his entire stance is intimidating enough. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

            “Go, Fi,” Lip says when their eldest sister looks to him for support.

            He can’t meet her eyes.

            Ian is just lying there, limbs broken and teeth digging into the inside of his cheek. He needs to ground himself. He needs to… he needs…

            “ _Mick._ ”

            Mickey bends, presses a harsh kiss to his forehead and cages him in. He wraps his arms around Ian’s neck and head, pushes Ian’s face into the hard warmth of his sternum. And everything then is just _mickeymickeymickey_. He can’t concentrate on anything else. He doesn’t want to.

            “It’s okay, Gallagher,” he says. “It’s okay.”

            Ian rubs his face against the scratchy material of Mickey’s t-shirt. “Why am I being so fucking stupid?” he hiccups out when he realises he’s crying.

            Mickey just sighs, the breath rattling in his chest against Ian’s cheek. He really needs to get Mickey to consider quitting smoking. “Shitty upbringing,” he replies. His fingers are warm on the back of Ian’s neck, brushing against the short hairs there.

            Ian focusses on that. He focusses on the feeling of Mickey, of being near him.

            Lip’s left, he notices when Mickey pulls back, but that’s okay.

            “When are we going to catch a break?” Ian asks him, assuming like always that Mickey has all the answers.

            It’s why he’s surprised when Mickey just shrugs rather sadly and says, “I don’t know, Gallagher.”

            They’ll work it out together eventually, though. They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr as themintsauce. And one day I may learn how to hyperlink you there.


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